She might still be half-asleep, but the hammering on the front door felt like a pickaxe straight to her skull. She dragged herself out of bed, a wave of nausea hitting her as she stood up. She waited for it to pass before she practically stumbled to the front door. She opened it to find a beautiful box waiting, with more tissue paper and another handwritten note.

This could be your life.

I know some of the fans call me the crowned prince of guitar. You’d be my princess.

There would be perks, like I said. Call me on the number on the back to discuss

-R

Holy shit. She had his number. His personal mobile number. And he wanted her to call...

The thought of him made the butterflies in her stomach not only flutter, but completely go nuts, like they were trying to escape through the lining of her stomach. The spot between her legs ached as she remembered his touch. That kiss. The feel of his hand in hers...

However, this would be a business arrangement to him. Nothing more. She would do well to remember that.

Beneath the note in the box, she found Tylenol, some electrolyte solution, a bottle of water, a fizzy drink, a packet of salted crackers and some packets of jelly candy. An odd, but somehow perfect hangover cure.

This could be her life for a few months, that's what he'd said. Him taking care of her – from a distance, most likely – and of course there was the financial compensation he was offering. She'd found the almost obscene sum of money on the other side of his note, underneath his number.

All she had to do was say yes, take a couple of pictures with him every now and then, and he would be hers – well, sort of – at least for a little while. She would have enough money to pay for school and then some, maybe even take a little island holiday to clear her mind when this was all said and done. She was tempted, that was for sure. She took a quick shower to try to clear her mind, but standing in the shower with hot water cascading over her body, all she could think of was him. At the very least, she figured she should say thanks for the care package, and she resolved to do just that as she stepped out of the shower and got dressed.

Once back in the living room, she picked up her phone and saved his number to her contacts. Then she typed out a quick text.

Thanks, you didn’t have to do that. Worked wonders though, almost human again

Josh burst through the apartment door just as she settled onto the couch to start weighing the pros and cons on an imaginary yellow legal pad in her mind.

“Well, look who's home for once!” He stared at her for a second before continuing. “Where you been, Ser? Never would've thought living with you would mean seeing less of you.” He looked at her with a pissed off expression and his mouth set in a tight line. His words stung a little.

Her phone buzzed almost immediately, alerting her to an incoming message. Her heart pounded as she saw Rhys' name pop up on the screen, but she could feel Josh staring at her, so she couldn't open the text or dance around to read it like she would have if she had been alone.

Instead, she looked down at her hands, fiddling with the note she had picked up again. “I'm sorry, Josh. I've just been a bit preoccupied.”

“With what? You still don't have a job, far as I know.”

“It’s kind of a long story actually. I’ve been offered a… like a job, kind of. It would pay well, but it’s unconventional. Not sure if I should take it. You heard of a band called Misery?”

His expression softened a little at that. “Ser, everyone on the planet has heard of Misery! 'Cept maybe you. I love 'em! Why? What have they got to do with what's been going on with you?”

“Uhm, so you’ve heard of Rhys Grant then?”

“Yes, Ser, I’ve heard of him. Worship that guy, even. Still don’t know why you’re asking.”

“The other night when I went out with Mary and the girls, I sort of met him.”

“What? You get his autograph? Not shittin’ you here Ser, but we could probably live for a few months off selling a drop of that guy’s sweat online!” Even Josh looked uncharacteristically excited about her meeting Misery. She must’ve been way out of the loop not knowing about them.

“Really?” Her nose crinkled at the information he had just given Her. “That’s gross!” Not that he didn't smell amazing or whatever. But selling his sweat?

“Seriously Ser, I heard that one guy made a shit ton of money selling his vomit online after a show in Buffalo!”

“That’s seriously gross, Josh. How does one even… Never mind. Anyway, he offered me a position with the band,” she murmured, looking down at her hands again.

Josh paled a bit. “Seriously? As what? In their marketing crew?”

“Uh yeah, no, actually. As an, uh, assistant for a few months.”

The color drained from his face completely. He kept quiet at first, then burst out, “You want to be his fucking prostitute?”

“No, Josh. Of course not. It’s not that kind of assistance!”

“You want to live in my house, spend your days fucking some rock star and have dinner like everything’s fucking okay?”

“Josh! No! I won’t be spending my days ‘fucking some rock star’!” Though certain parts of her clenched at the idea.

“I’ll take some pictures with him, spend some time with him and that’s that. Help the band, in a way.”

Josh's expression was darker than she'd ever seen it, which was saying a lot since she'd been the one who'd comforted him when his childhood pet hedgehog died, when his parents had gotten divorced, and countless other moments when life had smashed his head in.

“No, Serena. I will not let you live here while being some rock star’s pet prostitute!”

If I was going to be his 'pet prostitute,' I'd be able to get lots of sweat to sell online, she thought sarcastically as he continued yelling his nonsensical bullshit at her. He seemed to have completely forgotten his earlier eagerness to sell the man's sweat... Not that she would ever!

“You needed some place to live, and I gave it to you. No questions asked. But I will not have you living here while dating. Especially not while dating some self-absorbed, dangerous, alcoholic rock star! Christ, Ser, I know your parents are overprotective and all, but surely you've seen how he lives? Different girl every night, drinks enough bourbon to fill the Valley when he's having a rare quiet one. I mean, the man's a god at guitar, but sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll is a cliché for a reason. He's one of those goddamn reasons!”

“So wait. I can live here for as long as I want, as long as I'm single? But once I start dating, I'm not welcome anymore? Forget about Rhys and whatever life he may have to offer me. You said you won't have me living here while dating?” Those were the words that stuck out to her. No living while dating. What the hell?

“Yes, Serena. That’s exactly what I’m saying.” His voice was cold, laced with anger.

She hadn't missed how he'd used her full name before, but this time it seemed like an ultimatum.

She grabbed her phone off the coffee table and stalked into her room, scrolling to Rhys' name without having read his message. She played with the note, now crumpled, that she still held in her hand.

To her surprise, he actually answered the phone himself. Rock stars answered their own phones?

“Serena?” he asked by way of greeting, a note of surprise in his voice.

“Uh, yeah. I mean hi, it’s me. This proposal of yours, does it include a place to live by any chance? 'Cause if it does, I think I’m in.”

There was a burst of relieved laughter from the other end of the line. He didn't skip a beat, his voice confident and sure. “I can make that happen. When do you want to move in?”

“Ten minutes ago, or so? Whenever is fine, though. Just let me know.” Her hands were shaking. She couldn't believe she had just asked Rhys Grant if she could move in, and he had said yes!

“Okay, start packing, princess. I'll send someone right over.” He clicked off.

She stayed in her room. Josh had tried knocking a little earlier, proclaiming that they had to talk. Fuck him. She stayed in her room for another hour or so before she heard a knock at the front door. Seconds later, there was a knock at her bedroom door. “Miss Woods? Mr. Grant sent us to collect you and your things. If you could open up, please?”

She cracked the door open just an inch to find a giant man in a dark suit staring back at her. “Mr. Grant sent us. This is a non-disclosure agreement.” He handed her a document. “Mr. Grant insists that you sign it before we move you, or your things.” His voice was strong, but not arrogant. He remained stoic as her eyes flashed to the NDA.

She barely glanced over the legalese in the document before she signed it with a flourish and handed it back to Mr. Security. She figured there was no use in reading over it. She knew what Rhys wanted from this “relationship,” and she had no intention of selling her story after the fact. She may not have studied law, but she'd picked up a few things at her father's company, and the NDA had seemed like the standard 'don't fuck with me, and I won't fuck with you' variety. If it wasn't, well, then so be it. She needed to get out of here.

“Can we go now?” Mr. Security was still standing in her doorway. Once she handed the signed NDA over, he nodded and several other men appeared from outside her bedroom door.

It took them less than fifteen minutes to load all her worldly possessions into a fleet of luxury SUVs, and soon, Josh's building was fading in the rearview mirror.

“Name's Thomas, Miss Woods.” Mr. Security introduced himself as the wheels started rolling. “Been with Mr. Grant almost five years now. If you need anything, please let me know.”

“Thanks, Thomas. I'm Serena. And what I need right now is for you to not call me 'Miss Woods'.”

The car seemed to be heading toward Hollywood Hills. Maybe Rhys was sending her back to the band's party mansion where they had first met.

She had no idea whether they lived there, or just rented the place for parties. Or heck, maybe they had just broken in that night. Though, the latter seemed highly doubtful. And if nothing else, the room at the very top of the stairs she had been in had seemed lived-in – as weird as it would be living with five rock stars, three of whom she hadn't even met yet.

The SUV kept going, however, past where it should have turned to get to the party palace, and drove toward the Bird Streets.

Her mouth dried up. She may have been a native, but she had never dared go near the Bird Streets. Up in the Hollywood Hills, where only the richest and most famous called home, they pulled up in front of a grey gate that gave nothing away as to what was beyond it.

As they slowed, she finally pulled out her phone to read the message Rhys had sent her after Josh had barged in.

Her breath hitched as she read his simple words.

No problem, like I said, there are perks. I’ll take good care of you, princess.